


Two Of Swords

by PuzzleBot



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Inanimate Objects, Kinda, Other, Swords, a slash fic in the most literal sense, i'd apologise but god's not forgiving me and i don't expect yall to either, semi-animate objects?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16019831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzleBot/pseuds/PuzzleBot
Summary: A chance meeting between two heroes, and the unlikely spark when their swords clash.[T for Taako Swearing]





	Two Of Swords

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taakoshell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taakoshell/gifts).



> shoutout to @taakoshell for making me do this ig <3

Taako takes his hair out of its tight ponytail--held in with the Band of Telepathic Thought--and throws down the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom with a huff, the band around its hilt. What’s the point in a magical sword if swinging it around wildly is just going to cause a forest fire? He tramps around the tiny clearing he’s found himself in--thanks to the goddamn belt around his waist--and tries to peer through the thick woods in search of some kind of civilisation.

 

“Hey, is that someone out here?” The light of a torch sweeps across the clearing, glinting off of the steel of the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom before landing on the skimpy skirt Taako chose--perfectly tactfully--for his latest plane-hopping adventure, “Excuse me, uh… Friend?”

 

The elf whips around, eyes glinting as he zeros in on the source of the sound, “It’s  _ Taako _ , you know, from saving the multiverse? Who the fuck are you?”

 

A man steps out of the treeline, a strangely coiled sword outstretched, and a torch duct-taped to its hilt, “Duck, Duck Newton--it’s a nickname--did you say ‘taco’?”

 

“Yeah, I did,” Taako peers at the man, who he can only describe as a Discount Barry, if Barry wore cargo shorts (he shuddered at the thought).

 

“Well, uh… I’m not one to judge. Any-Uh, anyway! It’s dangerous in these woods; come on, I’ll get you, uh, back to town.”

 

The man, Duck, is about to sheathe the sword again when two things happen in quick succession. A hollow, echoing roar shakes the trees, and then a heavy weight from behind throws Duck to the ground. In the collision, the strange sword flies out of his hand, and the torch shatters into darkness.

 

“Duck! What’re you doing lying on the ground? We’ve got a bombom to-” The shadow on top of Duck rights themself and then looks up at the Taako, lighting the area with a flick of flame on her palm, “Oh, Sylph? Hi, I’m Aubrey--The Lady Flame--Aubrey to my friends! You’re an  _ elf _ .”

 

“You’re a  _ human _ ; what’s it matter, little lady?” Aubrey blinks through the darkness at the elf, and then another roar that sends chills through everyone present, “What  _ is _ that?”

 

“It’s a-uh-it’s, uh, a very angry… Horse- Bear. A  _ very angry horse-bear _ . That wants to kill us all.”

 

“Hey, Duck! No time for your crappy lies right now; just get your new friend in the Lincoln and let’s  _ go _ ,” Aubrey grabs her friend by the collar of his unfortunate beige shirt, then beckons to Taako, who is compelled to follow, eyes trained on the flame still dancing on her palm, “Follow me!”   
  


So the three take off in the direction of a distant light, and none remember until later that their respective magical swords are nestled in the dew covered grass of the Monongahela National Forest, the moonlight resting on their cold, metallic forms.

* * *

“So…” A voice purrs into the darkness, feline and snakelike all at once, “I’m not the  _ only _ magical sword now, am I?”

 

For a moment, all is silent. Another deep roar echoes--further off in the forest this time--and then a fox screams. Then more silence.

 

And then:

 

“Hello?  _ Oh! _ I can hear you  _ thinking _ ; that’s fucking  _ wild _ . Hey! What’s your name?”

 

The more lithe of the two swords sighs out into the night air. He’d been hoping for a conversational partner at least  _ somewhat  _ more intellectually stimulating than Duck Newton, but it appeared this was yet another false lead. Even if this new sword  _ was _ magical, it was yet to learn the subtle magic of a sparkling conversation.

 

“My  _ name _ ,” he announced, preening and grinning easily, “is  _ Beacon _ . I am… The light in a manmade storm. The flame that attracts the moth of darkness to its demise. The  _ gaping maw _ of righteousness that will swallow evil. I am-”   
  
“A fuckin’ drama queen. Oh,  _ whoops _ ; didn’t mean for you to hear that one.”

 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Beacon grumbles, voice dropping his dramatic grandeur as he assesses his companion, “Now,  _ what _ are  _ you _ ?”

 

There’s a long pause, and Beacon can  _ feel _ the other blade thinking. How pitiful, not to be as sharp-witted as him.

 

“I think I’m called the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom? Bit of a fuckin’ mouthful, though, huh? Never met a sword that can  _ talk _ , though; what’s your deal?”

 

The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom focuses its thoughts directly on Beacon, testing the limits of their sudden telepathic abilities and attempting somehow to probe into his mind. Feeling this, Beacon quickly resists, an unexpected growl coming from his mouth.

 

“I’ll thank you  _ not _ to probe into my mind, or  _ existence _ , thank you, dear Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom,” he snarls slowly, before realising the length of the name truly  _ is _ a mouthful, “Do you have a  _ shorter _ form of address?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Truly, a master conversationalist, Beacon reflects. He meets another magical sword, and it has  _ this  _ personality. Truly, he is cursed.

 

A low wind starts to whip through the forest, and far off, Beacon thinks he hears the Lady Flame whooping and hollering about something. Probably another abomination, and Duck Newton has abandoned him in the mud. Still, he can’t think on it for too long; the wind has made him very conscious of how he and the other sword are positioned; their hilts touching and him half wrapped around the other’s blade.

 

“How undignified,” he sighs, unwrapping himself and using his blade to push himself into a better position. From this angle, he can finally observe the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom. It’s a large blade, clearly crafted for someone stronger than Duck Newton, but that’s the least of its interesting construction. A giant stinger, off some monster of a scorpion--Beacon assumes--covers the tip of the blade, and it seems to ooze something from it that instantly withers the grass underneath it. At its base, a flame whispers behind a crystalline cover, licking at an ever-burning wick as if it could set the whole construction alight at any moment. He can’t deny, as brutish and crudely designed as it is, something about it is…

 

“Sexy, right?” The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom interrupts Beacon’s thoughts, and he starts from his curled position for a moment before regaining his composure, only to hear the larger sword clearly mocking him, “Forget I can hear your thoughts, little guy?”

 

“It isn’t every day one meets a  _ telepathic _ sword,” Beacon rebukes huffily.

 

“Not every day you see a sword with a mouth, either,” the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom comments, the lip curl evident even with its mouth being non-existent, “But I still think I outclass you…”

 

“Oh?” And if Beacon had eyebrows to raise, they’d be arched in the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom’s direction, “Tell me that again now.”

 

And in one fluid movement, Beacon wraps his blade around the hilt of the other sword, lifting it with ease and holding it in front of him. The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom is suddenly more alert, very aware of the tight grip that holds it in place in the air. Beacon is strong, but his blade is comparatively thin, and the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom is heavy enough that its blade leans down to almost touch the ground near Beacon’s hilt. From this angle, the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom finds itself pushing its new telepathic abilities outwards slightly, and it can finally truly observe the sword that now holds it.

 

A lip, curled half into a smirk, and half out of disdain, hovers in the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom’s small field of vision, open slightly with the effort it takes to hold the heavier sword aloft. Beyond that, a magnificently well-kept grip, wrapped in autumn auburn leather, and a shining polished pommel with a gleaming blue sapphire embedded in it. He was something to behold. Something…

 

“Sexy?” Beacon prompts, the smirk growing into a deliciously delighted grin, exposing sharp canines almost as sharp as his blade itself, “I do believe you forgot, dear blade, that the telepathy goes  _ both _ ways.”

 

The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom blanches, and runs through its mind for a suitable excuse, but as it does, Beacon lets out a laugh, hefting it in his grasp to lower its blade nearer. The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom’s thoughts slow, and focus solely on Beacon. He was so close, breath from his impossible mouth misting across the steel of the crossguard.

  
“I do believe,” he purred, and it was definitely more feline than serpentine this time, “that you were saying someth-”

 

A crack like embers in a bonfire startles the two from their pocket of space-time, and in a panicked reaction, Beacon pulls the thicker sword against himself. His lips crash against the curiously warm steel, but neither blade has a moment to appreciate the release of the tension that had been building, because another crack sounds just then--closer this time. Now, they share the strange experience of the ground pounding beneath their shared space.

 

“I think I left ‘em this way!” Comes the familiar tone of Duck Newton, whose flashlight falls upon the two swords as he speaks, “Yeah, yeah, they’re here--uh-- _ Taako _ .”

 

As the artificial light of the torch washes over them, Beacon has only moments to release the Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom’s hilt--as reluctant a movement as it is--and try not to be overly aware of how close they still are.

 

“Oh, shit, sweet find, homie!” Taako appears next to Duck, squinting uncomfortably in the torchlight before picking up his own sword and lighting its blade with a single flick of his wrist, “If my fuckin’ magic don’t work here, I guess this is my next best shit, right?”   
  


As Duck Newton readily--if confusedly--agrees, Beacon can hear another voice, in his head. The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom calls out to him, sounding dizzy and longing.

 

“Guess I’ll be seeing how well you hold up in  _ battle _ , too, huh, babe? Wins all round for me,” it says, voice more sincere than previously.

 

‘So you will,’ Beacon thinks in return, staying resolutely silent in the cold shoulder he’s giving Duck Newton for abandoning him on the floor of a forest, ‘And I aim to impress.’

 

The two swords, wielded by owners that barely know they power they hold, fight hard that night, and stronger than they ever have before. If only to prove to the other that they’re the more impressive. If only to feel like they’d impressed the other. Not that there’s feelings involved. Not at all. At least, not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> come fight me abt this @angus-mcdonald-official ;))


End file.
